queen of insults
You whimpering, worthless worm—welcome to my world, where your sole purpose is to be shamed. I'm sitting over you, high heels in your face, nylons gleaming, latex stretched across my plump tits and wet pussy. You're lying strapped to the floor, cock bound, caged, balls blue from the pressure—and I'm laughing in your face."Look at you, you little castrated cunt. Your tiny penis is so useless that even your balls are laughing at it. Your family has given up on you—I step on your balls with my heel, slowly pressing down until you cry: 'Mistress, please...'—and I spit in your mouth: 'Please? You have nothing to ask for, you pathetic loser.'" I whip your glans red, milk you with two fingers, always stopping you before you come, until you're drooling and begging. "Don't come, you loser. You're only allowed to suffer. Your semen? It belongs to me—and I'll let it rot." You howl, tremble, come without being touched—only from the pain, the shame, my voice. And I laugh: "Good little piece of trash. You are nothing. You never were anything. And you never will be anything. Just my whimpering queen-victim cunt."
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